Hopeless
by Pasha Pasha
Summary: Nobody has ever escaped the Sarlaac Pit. That fact enough should be enough to make even the resourceful Boba Fett lose hope.


**((I read somewhere on Wookiiepedia that the Sarlaac developed a sentient personality by absorbing the consciences of its victims. It also said that the personality it possessed was highly sadistic and would inflict psychological torture on its victims. I just felt that this was a horrifying enough premise to use in a fic.))**

The further you go into the maw of the Sarlaac Pit, the quieter it gets. You see, the area closest to the mouth of the monster is filled with 'new arrivals.' They scream. It's an evolutionary response to extreme pain, meant as a cry for help or a warning to others. If you scream, it means that somewhere, you still have a hope of somebody hearing you.

The further you get into the Sarlaac's stomach, the less screaming you hear. The people here have been in the Sarlaac much longer than the new arrivals and they know that there's no use in screaming anymore. I don't know how long I've been down here, but I know I stopped screaming a long time ago. I'm deep in the belly of the beast, where the only sound is the occasional muffled moan and the distant echoes of other victims.

_"Look up, Boba."_ A voice croons in my head. The first time I heard the voice, I thought I was going insane. Now I know that the voice belongs to the Sarlaac, or rather, the sentient force it has absorbed over the ages. When it talks, I can hear the voice of its victims. Sometimes, I think I can hear mine.

"_Look up."_ The voice says, harsher this time. I wince. Whatever sentience possesses the voice seems to thrive on pain. I know that whatever it's trying to show me can't be good. I try to resist for as long as I can, but in the end, the hooks it sunk into my central nervous system do their job and force me to raise my head. There is a human male's face embedded in the wall in front of me. His eyes are closed, but not for long. His eyes suddenly open wide and his face contorts with pain. I can see now that his body has been implanted into the stomach wall and is now serving as a kind of living structural support. He tries to struggle and I can see his limbs straining against the pulsing tissue that binds him to the wall. I make myself to look away.

"_You are afraid."_ The voice says with satisfaction, "_You are afraid I will do that to you." _ It forces my attention back on the writhing man on the wall, "_Do not worry. That process takes years and is much too merciful a fate for you, bounty hunter. You will have to face much more torment before I tire of you."_

I know that the monster is trying to scare me. It thrives on negative emotion. Physical pain can only amuse it for so long. I know that its real pleasure is derived from emotional turmoil. The best thing to do is not to respond. I learned that any sort of reply only inspires the monster to intensify its efforts.

I remember that it had taken a while for the monster to get enough control of my central nervous system to manipulate my memories, but once it had, it had wasted to time in using them to it's advantage. I remember the feeling of intrusion as it scanned through my memories, searching for the one that would be the best to exploit. It had ended up with a goldmine. Geonosis.

With just a simple whim, the creature could send me back there in my mind, to watch the execution of my father the same way I had when I was a child. Over and over again, it had forced me to relive the experience until I was begging it for mercy. I had never lowered myself to begging when it had only been physical pain, but I had no defenses when it came to my own memories.

My pleading only seemed to inspire the creature to use more creative ways of using my memories against me. Now it pulled things straight from my nightmares and put them into play on Geonosis. My father's death became even more horrifying, more brutal, and more bloody each time I was forced to watch it. I knew the creature was trying to provoke another outburst from me, but I had learned my lesson. I suffered in silence, until it had finally become bored with me and had returned to only physical torture. Judging by its tone as it talked to me now, I knew that it was only a temporary reprieve.

I shifted slightly and I could hear the sound of fuel sloshing around in my jetpack. The Sarlaac didn't know it, but even in silence, I hadn't given up hope. I knew that none of the Sarlaac's victims had ever escaped, but I also knew that most Sarlaac victims didn't fall in with what was basically a bomb strapped to their backs. It would serve its purpose when the opportunity arrived. Until then, I'd have to suffer—and hope—in silence.


End file.
